Precipice
by ledez-dreams
Summary: A series of Vignettes in season 7, Jon and Daenerys come to know each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings**

 _She was beautiful._

Beautiful to the point of being absurd, Jon thought. The whole situation was absurd. A strange young queen of whom he knew nothing demanding he bend the knee, simply because she commanded it. A woman who had likely never seen snow thought she was Queen in the North. That would be the day. They'd only just won their home back, and Jon wasn't going to sacrifice the tenuous faith the northern lords had placed in him.

"She's not what I expected," Ser Davos remarked later when they were in their room, as though remarking on the weather. The furnishings were spartan, hardly surprising given the Queen had just moved in, but no expense had been spared with what there was. A slightly odd mix of ornate furniture of oak and sensible dark green and maroons coupled with thin, colourful silks that had so clearly come from Meereen. They didn't match the furniture that had obviously been there during Stannis' tenure at Dragonstone, although the effect wasn't entirely unpleasant. Davos knelt down in front of the hearth to stoke up the fire, "You've got your work cut out for you with her, your Grace."

"We need to get back to Winterfell. Sansa was right, we should never have come." Jon muttered, pacing the room distractedly, feeling like a caged animal. Tormund was right, he'd spent too much time with the free folk to be ordered around by another, to be held a prisoner.

"You were right when you said we need her army to defeat what's coming," Davos reminded him. He stood up and stepped in front of Jon's path, placing a placating hand on his shoulder. "The story is fantastic, you knew it wouldn't be believed at first. You knew it wouldn't happen overnight, she needs to know more about you in order to see the truth of what you speak. And we also need the dragon glass."

"She'll never listen," Jon snapped back. "All Daenerys Targaryen cares about is sitting on the Iron Throne and ruling the seven kingdoms. The North is nothing to her other than something to control. She won't be convinced of the army of the dead and we don't have time to be chasing a fruitless task."

"You don't know her, and she doesn't know you," Davos replied reasonably. "You can't know all of that based on one conversation. I respect that you don't trust her, but you have to agree, she also has no reason to trust you. You need to give her time." He gestured around their chambers and grinned wryly. "Besides, your Grace, I do think we might be stuck here for a little while. Might as well make use of the time we have, I think we have enough of it."

Jon hated to admit that Davos' words rang true. They did need the Queen. Or more accurately, they needed her army. And quite possibly her dragons. All the same, he didn't like it. He turned away from Davos, moving to the small window. The sun was beginning to set and the view from the tower looked on from high. The sky was purple, pink and blue, melding into orange around the sun as it moved into the sea. Jon had never seen colours such as these in his life. The sky wasn't like this in the north all rich hued, not even in summer.

 _He hated it._

Hated the warm, humid air, the crashing waves, the colourful sky, the cold, beautiful Queen. It was the first time he'd ever been away from the North, and though he'd only just arrived, Jon missed home more fiercely than he ever thought could be possible. He deeply wanted to be out of this strange country. He dared not express these desires to Ser Davos. Davos who presumably hadn't been home in years during his service of Stannis. Davos who probably felt more at home back here in Dragonstone than he ever would in Winterfell. Davos who never once complained or asked for anything for himself. Now serving the King in the North, it was doubtful Ser Davos would ever see home again. Jon counted himself lucky to have this man as his counsel and friend. He turned back to Davos and nodded ruefully, although he couldn't quite make himself smile.

"Aye, time we do have. She needs to understand what's coming and I'll do my best to convince her. I'll warn you right now though, I'm no negotiator, I'm not cut out for this."

Davos gave Jon Snow an odd look. "I think you are better than you seem to believe."

"With Wildlings perhaps. This is different, she is from a different world. We have no common ground." Jon argued.

"She is a Queen, are you not a King?"

"Yes but I'm not-" Jon paused. _Not a real king_ he had been about to say. He didn't feel like a king, not really. Lord commander or King in the North, part of Jon would always be Ned Stark's bastard. What could he have in common with Deanarys Stormborn? He led because they had asked him to lead, not because he felt he had a right to.

If Davos had an inkling of what Jon had been about to say, he gave no indication.

"I'm older than you and seen more of the world than you." He said. "And I'll tell you right now, people are people, no matter where they are from or how rich and powerful they are. Common ground can always be found." He patted Jon's arm lightly.

Open yourself up, let the Queen get to know you, and for the Gods' sake, keep an open mind. You never know, she may do the same."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dragon Glass**

 _We all enjoy what we're good at._

"I don't." Jon Snow had said in a defeated world weary voice. It might have been maddening if it hadn't been such a surprising thing for him to say. It certainly was no false modesty as far as Daenerys could see.

She might not believe _him_ , not yet, but she could see that Jon Snow believed in his own cause. It clearly overshadowed everything else for him. Certainly overshadowed swearing loyalty. Here was a man who claimed he had no wish to rule, yet refused to acquiesce to another, rightful ruler.

"You spoke to him?" Tyrion called over the wind as he approached her on the cliff where she looked out.

"I did," She replied, turning to her Hand. Despite his question, she was certain he'd watched her conversation with Jon Snow. "He's glad to have the Dragonglass, whatever use it will bring him." Daenerys frowned. "He's... awfully sure of his convictions. But I haven't decided if I believe him."

Tyrion shrugged helplessly. "I am as in the dark as you are. Like I said before, I was at the wall, and I can tell you right now, there are no dead walking the halls, just Crows." He raised an eyebrow. "Although it is a dismal, dark place, I can see how one could make the mistake." Tyrion shook his head, "But Jon Snow wasn't the only man to speak of Whitewalkers while I was there. I _do_ know and I still don't doubt is that Jon Snow is an honourable man, just like his father was. He's no liar. I know he's telling the truth as best he knows it. It would be nice for all of us if he's gotten his facts wrong. But I doubt it."

"There seem to be lots of fanciful stories up there on the Wall, doesn't there?" Daenerys snorted. "Men who took knives in the heart, yet are alive, the reanimated dead attacking the living."

"I remember stories of the Whitewalkers well from my childhood, they were some of my favourites. But there haven't been any winters on record that have shown evidence they actually existed. If they do however, the Wall does stand between us and them."

Daenerys nodded slowly and bowed her head. "I thank you for your counsel, Lord Tyrion, you may go now." She felt rather than saw Tyrion incline his head before turning from her and heading back to the castle.

Once she was alone, Daenerys looked back up at the sky. In the distance she could see Viserion flying out in the distance. How long had it been since there had been dragons in the world?

She thought about what Jon Snow described and wondered. Most would think he was lying, or perhaps mad. Daenarys, however, she who had seen her beloved husband die and then live. A mere shadow of the man he had been before she killed him with her own hand. She survived fire only to birth three dragons. Daenerys wasn't so sure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lies**

Jon took a deep breath. "There is something else I want to show you, your Grace." He gave her the torchlight and motioned for her to lead the way as they went into the innermost chamber. Missandei and Davos stayed behind and it was only the two of them.

Daenerys examined the cave paintings Jon had been so amazed to find himself, only the day before. He hoped beyond hope that the paintings would help illuminate for her the truth of his words, that the Night king was real and that he was their common enemy. The paintings did have an effect on her. She instinctively knew without being told the power of the images, and looked upon them with reverence. A people who existed outside of time. Where names, families, houses didn't matter. As he took her arm and guided her to another part of the cave wall, she gave him a quick look, but followed him without question. And seemed for a few moments to understand the gravity of the situation they were in. Until it all came back to allegiances again. She would help them. _When you bend the knee._

"Isn't that more important than your pride?"

Those words jarred Jon in a way she could not possibly have known, his own words to Mance Rayder thrown back in his face. He closed his eyes a pained moment, trying and failing to find the right words forward. As he always failed. Only to open his eyes again to find her gaze unbroken, singular. Expectant.

Jon was very suddenly powerfully reminded of Ygritte. He and Ygritte in a cave so far away from this one it could have been another world entirely, in a time that seemed so very long ago now. The memory was staggering in its weight and was quickly followed by a dull feeling of grief, familiar like an old friend. Tinged now with a hint of guilt that he could be reminded of her now while looking upon another. Ygritte's memory gently faded away with each passing day no matter how hard Jon tried hard to hold onto it. He feared he was forgetting her.

Even as he was reminded of Ygritte now, it was the Queen he saw in front of him. He let go of Ygritte and forced himself back into the present. How could he swear allegiance to her? She was a stranger to this land, and they'd hardly seen eye to eye since his arrival. He wasn't even sure he _liked_ her.

Daenerys finally spared him from her pointed look, moving her attention back to the drawings. Jon couldn't help but take advantage of the moment to gaze upon her freely. The firelight from the torch played off her face and silvery hair, making it shine like spun white gold.

She was a vision, otherworldly seeming. She had beauty unlike any he'd ever seen, though he fought against such thoughts. He wasn't a foolish boy to be moved by something as fickle as beauty. And yet, that wasn't the whole of it. He couldn't help but admire her tenacity, her stubbornness. Jon couldn't explain it, but despite his reservations, he could see goodness within her. He _felt_ this with a certainty in his bones. Her fragile beauty disguised great strength within. He _did_ like her, and he was more sure of this than he should be. His attempt to deny these feelings felt increasingly like a lie. And Jon Snow hated lies, most of all when he was trying to lie to himself.

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

"Thank you for showing me these Lord Snow." She turned back to him giving him one last look with those lovely eyes before heading back towards the entrance. The loss of the torchlight left him momentarily in darkness before he followed.

For all the lies he seemed to be telling himself about the Queen, there was one thing he knew to be true.

Ygritte would have hated her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Return**

The encounter with the dragon ( _Drogon_ , Jon recalled its name was) left him shaken, yet exhilarated. The creature's skin burned hard and hot as Jon laid his trembling fingers upon its face, nearly too hot for comfort, like a stone that had sat long near a raging fire. It was fearsome to be sure and it was still difficult to comprehend that such creatures existed in the world, even after all Jon had seen in his short but eventful life. And yet the intelligence, the awareness in the dragon's eyes as it regarded him... he had not expected that. And as it turned to look at Daenerys as she dismounted, its keen awareness of her near it, and the care it took to avoid striking her down as it leapt to the sky... the whole experience reminded Jon of Ghost. In this moment he could easily understand the kinship Daenerys felt with her dragon children.

Jon forced himself to regain his composure before facing the queen. She had returned from Highgarden after a remarkably short journey, seeming satisfied with what she had accomplished. Jon didn't know what those accomplishments entailed, but he he could imagine. Their interaction was short lived before interruption. He was spared from answering her question about him taking a knife for his people. Which was good since he couldn't begin to know how to answer. She, like her dragons tended to leave him shaken as well. Yet exhilarated.

And this now was Jorah Mormont. Older, more weathered than Jon might have imagined, had he ever thought to imagine the Lord Commander's son. Sad seeming. Yet clear affection existed between this strange man and his Queen. The warmth in her voice as she addressed him and their interaction implied a long history together, though of what exactly he couldn't be sure. Friendship certainly, something more perhaps?

As Mormont pulled back from his Queen's embrace, he looked to Jon, expression inscrutable. Jon searched the man's eyes, unconsciously searching for signs of the man he had known, had respected, and felt he could see a resemblance. Despite the schism between father and son of which he knew bits and pieces, Jon felt himself take an instinctive liking to Jorah.

"This is Jon Snow... the King in the North. For now," Daenerys introduced him, hesitating before adding that last part with a wry smile, more playful than challenging. She was obviously in a good mood, Jon hadn't seen her in such good humour before. It suited her.

"You're Ned Starks' son." Jorah stated, stepping forward slightly to get a better look at him.

"I am." Jon agreed shortly.

"You defeated the Boltons, took your home back." Jorah glanced over at his Queen, seeming to gauge her reaction to the conversation before adding approvingly, "King in the North or not, I'm glad of it. The Starks belong in Winterfell."

"I did," Jon Snow agreed. " _We_ did," He added. "My sister and the Northern houses. House Mormont among them."

"Bear Island." Jorah replied, a wistful look on his face. "I doubt such a small house could have helped that much."

"Not small in heart," Jon answered, a smile playing on his face. "Lady Lyanna especially."

"I've not met my cousin." Jorah replied, looking away awkwardly.

"Well," Jon waited until Mormont turned back and made sure to look the man in the eye before adding, "I hope someday you do." Jorah inclined his head politely, if doubtfully.

Daenerys watched this exchange, looking between the two men with interest. When their conversation stilled, she turned to Mormont. The wind had grown stronger in the last minutes, bringing a storm with it. Not snow, not yet Jon reckoned. But not far off. Probably weeks, maybe a month left before winter reached the south.

"You must be tired after a long journey Ser Jorah. I myself have also recently returned from a journey. A shorter journey than yours perhaps, but taxing. Let's go to the castle." As she started back she threw a teasing smile over her shoulder. "Shall we leave you to your brooding Jon Snow, or will you join us?" Her smile lingered on him and Jon felt his heart kick into his throat. It was a very fine thing, seeing her happy. She turned away before he could answer.

Daenerys and Mormont moved back to the castle, the Queen's guard flanking them. Jon followed, observing how closely the two stood together and tried not to dwell on an emotion that tugged at him, an emotion that felt suspiciously like _envy._

Later back in his chambers with his head cleared, Jon's thoughts turned back to the matters at hand. _Jorah Mormont_ , yet another worshipper of Daenarys Targaryan. Fiercely loyal. Loyal to a Queen who had just killed Gods knew how many Westerosi men in her war against Cersei. Men that they needed in the real war to come. She still didn't understand that the war against Cersei was irrelevant, consumed as she was by the Iron Throne. Yet in the short time he had been here, he too had seen glimpses into the kind of Queen Daenerys was. It wasn't difficult to see why they were loyal, why they all loved her. She was right, he didn't know how to feel.

This strange land and its strange politics was miles away from the North in more ways than just distance. It would be the death of him.

The door to his chambers opened and Ser Davos stepped through. "A Raven, your Grace," He said by the way of greeting as he handed him the parchment.

"Have you read it?" Jon asked as he unwrapped the roll. The seal appeared intact, but Jon wasn't a fool.

"No," Davos replied. "Although it came to me by way of Lord Varys, so you and I are probably the only people in this castle who haven't by now."

He read the note and despite the bad tidings, _very_ bad tidings, the good news allowed him to indulge in a joy Jon hadn't felt since Sansa had walked into the Keep at the Wall. Arya and Bran. _Alive,_ and at Winterfell. It was a miracle. A year ago he had imagined himself alone in this world, the last of his family. Now the Starks had expanded by yet two more. He suddenly itched to be home in a way he hadn't since his first day at Dragonstone.

"Good news I take it." Ser Davos remarked, observing Jon's expression. He was polite, but clearly impatient to know what was in the letter.

"No..." Jon admitted slowly. But as he looked up from the note into Davos' face, he couldn't help the wide grin from spreading onto his face, allowing himself this moment of happiness. "And yes."


	5. Chapter 5

**Understandings**

Daenerys came upon him in the library. The castle was quiet. With Ser Davos and Tyrion both away, they were both more alone than either were used to being. She'd sent Missandei to her chambers early, bidding her to rest, and as a result found herself enjoying a few uncommon hours of solitude.

Daenerys hadn't spoken to Jon Snow since they had seen the knight and dwarf off to King's Landing that morning. She'd spotted him a few times today moving about the grounds, checking on the progress on the obsidian mine and walking along the cliffs. A lonely yet magnificent sight. Here he was now, inside at last. For once he was rid of his voluminous furs, wearing a simple black leather tunic. He sat in a large reading chair near the fire, though it burned low and she could barely make out his features in the dark. Had she been seeking him out in her walk about her castle, moving silently from room to room? Daenerys thought not, but now that she saw him here, she knew she wouldn't leave.

"Am I disturbing you?" She said lightly as she slipped into the chair across from him. Jon started a bit and his eyes showed surprise when they met hers.

"I'm sorry your Grace, I was in my own thoughts. I will leave you in peace." He started to get up, but Daenery's waved her hand and he stilled.

"Please. I'd rather you stay." After a moment, Jon stood anyway. But it was only to stoke up the fire.

"It's odd to think you knew Ser Jorah's father." She started, watching as he added another log, his back to her. He continued to stir the coals around until the flames began to catch and the glow in the room brightened. "I've known him so long I sometimes forget he is from Westeros, as silly as that may sound."

"And he's a Northerner," Jon reminded her, sitting back across from her.

"And he's a Northerner." Daenerys agreed. She reminded herself to ask Jorah what his impressions were of the King in the North tomorrow, get a _Northern_ perspective on this man.

"The Lord Commander was a great man. I learned a great deal from him."

"I met Jorah shortly before I was married to Khal Drogo. He helped me understand the ways of the Dothraki. I learned a great deal from him too."

"What happened to him, your husband?" Daenerys thought she detected the slightest hesitation before Jon said husband, but perhaps it was her imagination.

"He died." She said shortly, looking away.

Jon nodded, although she knew she hadn't told him anything he didn't already know. After a few moments, Jon spoke again.

"I knew your uncle too." Daenerys turned back to him with raised eyebrows, surprised. Jon continued. "He was the Grand Maester of the Night's Watch. And one of the wisest men I knew."

"Aemon Targaryen." Daenerys breathed. "Of course I knew of him, but I confess I'd rather forgotten. I wish I could have met him. You know, he could have been King at one time." Having said that, she couldn't help wondering how different her life, all of their lives might have been if her uncle had indeed taken up that mantle.

"Aye, I know." Jon nodded. "He told me about the choice he had to make. How he refused to break his vows to the Night's Watch. He said every man of the Night's Watch is tested. After Joffrey killed my father, all I wanted was to go fight with my brother Robb. I tried to leave the Wall and break my vow. It was Maester Aemon who talked sense into me. Told me that the Night's Watch was where I belonged."

"And yet here you are."

"And yet here I am." Jon sighed morosely. Daenerys couldn't help rolling her eyes to herself. Gods the man could be so melancholy, one would think he'd never enjoyed a happy day in his life.

"You know your brother could make a legitimate claim to your crown in the North." Daenerys mused, saying something she had been thinking of since he had told them of the raven he had received.

"Aye, he could." Jon replied, sounding unconcerned. Or uncaring. "I didn't get the feeling he would in the letter that was sent. Bran... seems to be on a different path. But if he does... well." He looked her in the eyes earnestly. "He's my brother. Sansa is the lady of the North and she holds Winterfell now while I am here. Were something to happen to me, she would rule well also. I could never have taken Winterfell without her. We're all together now, after so long. We will stand together."

She saw he truly believed this. The love Jon Snow had for his family extended into unfailing faith in them. Daenerys wondered at how it might feel to have such feelings for family, to _have_ family. Viserys had never aroused such feelings in her. Even when she had loved him, part of her had always feared him. Until that fear turned into contempt. Jon Snow seemed to have lost much in his life, but he retained much as well. She hoped he was right about his siblings, for both their sakes.

The firelight had further brightened and she had a better view of him. He was still broad, but looked smaller without his furs, more approachable and relaxed. His wild hair was unbound, curly and unruly around his face. It was the kind of hair many girls would wish to have. He was so very unlike the coarse Northman she had expected to meet. How surprised she had been when she first saw him. She'd expected a big burly and uncouth Northern Lord. Instead she'd gotten Jon Snow. Hard yes, with scars to prove it, but also young and vulnerable in a way she couldn't quite pinpoint. And oh so very handsome. Strong in his convictions, stubborn as she had seen, but she saw kindness in him. Loyalty worth having if one could earn it, Tyrion was right about that. Yet he was so closed off, she still felt she didn't know him well, only glimpses into the man he was. She was glad of this chance to speak to him alone, without any political sparring, but as equals.

"Do you know why I invited you here, Lord Snow?" She asked. He sighed deeply.

"Of course I do, to gain an ally in the North, to have me bend the knee."

"Yes, but it was the Red Witch Melisandre who bid me to invite you here. She thinks it's important we join together." Jon tensed up at these words, confirming something Daenerys had already sensed. Something had gone wrong with these two. She wanted to know what that something was. "She speaks very highly of you."

"Does she now?" Jon replied, but didn't elaborate.

"More highly than you would speak of her, I take it." She prodded gently. He gave her a pained look, but again, wouldn't reply. Something about his distress told her it wasn't the time to push for the answers she wanted. After all, he hadn't pushed her when she refused to tell him of Drogo. She let the subject drop, though it was hard to let it go. She shifted the topic away from the Red Woman.

"It wasn't just her though. Tyrion spoke well of you. He really is is quite fond of you." The mention of her Hand's name seemed to break the tension slightly.

"He's a surprisingly easy person to be fond of himself. You seem to know that too." Jon replied. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "I wouldn't mind knowing how he ended up being the Hand of Daenerys Targaryen." Daenerys laughed lightly, then looked down, breaking eye contact, feeling slightly off kilter. It was the first time he'd ever used her given name in her presence.

"It's quite a good story actually." She turned to look into the flames. "One for another night though." Jon inclined his head politely and said no more. They sat in silence for a time, a silence she found comforting. After a while though, she found herself growing drowsy and knew it was time to retire.

"I'm not sure about this plan." Daenerys broke the silence, one last parlay. Jon glanced up, he too had been staring into the fire. He then surprised her by snorting with real mirth.

"Aye, it's a shit plan," He looked at her wryly. "But it's the one we've got."

"Yes, it is." She didn't like that he and Jorah would be leaving her for beyond the wall. She still wasn't sure exactly what it was they would be encountering when they got there, but she felt an unease she didn't like and worried for their safety. But they were right that Cersei needed proof if there was to be an alliance of any kind. Without proof, they would be at a stalemate.

Daenerys stood up then to take her leave and Jon immediately stood with her.

"Shall I walk you out your Grace?" He asked. He really was unfailingly polite. Bastard though he was, she could see the gallantry that one learned from growing up as a Lord. Kingship, she grudgingly admitted, did suit him.

"No, thank you Lord Snow. Please, stay here as long as you'd like." He nodded slightly, his dark eyes grave as ever, but also kind. She felt a rush of... something suddenly. On impulse, she reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. He jerked slightly, surprised by the contact, but didn't shake her off. It was the first time they'd touched since his guiding hand led her around his cave of dragon glass. His shoulder felt solid and warm under her touch. She smiled gently.

"I meant what I said before Jon Snow. I'm truly happy your brother and sister have returned. Family is a great thing to have, and family one loves as you do is a rare gift indeed." Jon's eyes softened and he was fully transformed from the melancholy man that had been in this room earlier.

"Thank you, your Grace. I'm glad too. Perhaps you will meet them someday." She lingered in her touch as they regarded one another, somehow reluctant to pull away. Finally, before it became inappropriate, she slowly pulled her hand back.

"I'm sure I will meet them. I look forward to that day. Goodnight, Lord Snow."

"Goodnight, your Grace."


	6. Chapter 6

**Fellowship**

Jon had just been starting to become used to the south when it became time to leave. He had unwillingly come to find beauty in its greenery and large cliffs and warm air. Had found an understanding of sorts with the Queen. Still, though he'd never been to Eastwatch by the Sea, the biting cold welcomed him home, enveloping his senses. The crisp chill and frost was in the air, even at mid afternoon. Jon could see the plumes of smoke come out of his mouth and nose with his every breath. He was very glad to be back, even for less than ideal reasons.

Besides, if all went well he would have to be back in the south soon, like it or not. If it didn't, well he would die in his homeland, which was a great deal more than many had, including his father.

His companions, those that had never been to the wall were finding the drastic temperature change difficult. Jorah may be a northerner, but it had been long since he'd been home and he'd never been as far north as Eastwatch. Gendry had never even seen snow. Jon liked this boy that Davos had brought from King's Landing, but he worried about him coming with them. The boy however was determined, and Jon wouldn't deny anyone, especially the son of Robert Baratheon a chance to have a sense of purpose, to fight. Before long, everyone would be forced to fight.

 _Might as well get used to it_ , he thought. Winter was here, and none of Westeros was safe from that fact.

"There are a lot of kings and queens in your land," Tormund had ventured gruffly to Jon earlier as they packed provisions for their journey. "Bit crowded south of the wall, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is." Jon replied.

"What do you make of them, these Queens?" Tormund asked. Jon worked silently for a few moments, considering his words before answering.

"Cersei I've not seen since I was a boy, but I know she's not to be trusted," Jon replied. "Daenerys I only met when I went to Dragonstone... she doesn't quite believe me, but there is trust between us. I think she'll see reason." He looked at the wildling. "She's powerful. I think we need her if we're going to win this."

"The Dragon Queen." Tormund said. "Did you see these dragons?"

"I did." Jon nodded. "They truly are spectacular. Massive creatures. There are three. She calls them her children, and from what I've seen, they do seem to see her as their mother. They do her bidding, she's ridden them into battle. I'm told they breath fire, just like the stories I heard as a boy. But I didn't have the pleasure."

Tormund nodded thoughtfully but said no more. If it had been Sansa, she would have cautioned against trusting anyone who was not of the North, dragons or not. Sam would have given him a history lesson on the Targaryens, illuminating him on the particulars of the Mad King. Both would have given sound advice as best they knew how. Tormund however was silent. Tormund understood implicitly that trust was given to a person based on their character, not that person's history or family tree. If Jon trusted Daenerys, that was good enough for him. After months of diplomacy, politics, speaking to Lords and Queens and treading carefully at every turn, Tormund was a refreshing companion to have.

It was strange, what had transpired here in this place. Men from all walks of life who had convened in Eastwatch at the same moment, all with the same goal. Jon wasn't the type to believe in signs, in fate. But this strange group of men gave him pause. It seemed to Jon that they were all caught up in something together. Not just the men here in this place, but Daenerys, Tyrion, his family, even Cersei. Tormund wasn't wrong when he said it was a stupid fucking idea to go beyond the wall. But Jon couldn't deny what he had seen and experienced firsthand. He felt a _rightness_ about what they were trying to do.

Now here they stood, about to depart through the gates, this strange brotherhood of men. They who barely trusted one another now had to trust each other with their lives. And they would. Something was happening here that was bigger than all of them. And that gave Jon hope.


	7. Chapter 7

**Interlude**

Daenerys was bored.

How long had it been since she'd had the luxury of idleness? Her anxiety for the party in the north was ever present, but dulled a bit from just shy of a fortnight without word. Boredom when so much was at stake was intolerable. So she set out to do something she hadn't done in years, not since she'd been married to Drogo.

They were in Daenerys' chambers, Missandei and Daenerys, indulging together on fine Dornish wine. Missandei was burrowed in a large grey fur that she favoured when she was alone. Some of the southerners were adjusting to this strange cold country better than others. The weather seemed to constantly be the topic of conversation around Dragonstone these days. Although the Dothraki were surprisingly hardy in the cold as it turned out, had taken to Westeros far better than expected. It seemed many of the hoard really had tired of the endless raids of the same villages, the same infighting amongst tribes over the same blood feuds. They had done well with a new adventure across the sea, new enemies to fight and a Khaleesi to fight for.

Missandei never complained, but the strange clothes, the strange culture, and chiefly the cold climate was difficult on her. Made worse by Grey Worm's absence. It was good for Daenerys and her friend to have this time together tonight, a warm room with drink and companionship. They reminisced about Meereen and times past, a welcome diversion from the constant stress of wondering and worrying about the present.

"I wonder what it is that makes virgins such great fighters." Daenerys mused idly, thinking about the many men who had fought for her and the differences between them. What made some better than others. Daenarys took a sip from her cup before continuing. "One would think lying with a woman... or a man for that matter would give them something to fight for. But perhaps it's a distraction rather than help. Without someone in their beds, they're free to have more... focus on other things." She looked up at her friend. "Not that _I_ would know about that. Not that _you_ would know." They eyed each other a moment, before bursting into girlish, wine tinged giggles.

"What about Lord Varys?" Missandei asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Lord Varys is a manipulative schemer. It's a different type of battle, but he fights it well." A beat before adding, "He really is one of the best." Another pause, then they were off again, laughing harder than before. Daenerys had tears in her eyes.

Missandei refilled the Queen's cup after her laughs died down, then her own cup as well. "Jon Snow isn't." Missandei said at last, conversationally. Daenerys, still stifling laughter looked up.

"Isn't _what_?"

"A _virgin_." Missandei replied mirthfully, as though it were obvious. Daenerys looked at her sharply.

"I never said he was."

"I know this." Missandei answered with a shrug. If Missandei caught her Queen's change in mood, there was no sign.

They hadn't been speaking of Jon Snow. _Had they?_ Daenerys frowned into her drink, perhaps the answer was in there. Even if they had, she hadn't been inviting the speculation. Or maybe she had. But she was hardly about to admit that.

"Well even still... he _must_ be," Daenerys responded archly and slightly condescendingly to her friend. Westeros may have been stranger to her than she liked to admit, even privately to herself. But she did know the traditions of her people. "The Night's Watch take vows to take no wife and father no children, and Jon Snow was just a boy when he joined the Night's Watch."

"All men have ways of getting around _vows_." Missandei answered suggestively. Daenerys rolled her eyes, she knew this well. But Jon Snow was different.

"In the short time I've known him, I seen Lord Snow show himself to be an honourable man. Does he strike _you_ as the kind of man who would break a vow?"

Missendei waved her arm, dismissing her Queen's words. Daenary's irritation increased, but she also distantly recalled this was why Missandei was one of the few she could count as a friend as well as a trusted advisor. "I know about honour, your Grace but I also know what I see. He's been with a woman before, and loved a woman deeply."

" _Loved_ a woman," She scoffed. "And how, pray tell, would you know _that_?"

"I just can tell. I can't explain it, I feel it." Missendei lifted her fur off of her shoulders, skin flushed from the wine. "This is the first time I've been warm since we got here." Missandei complained. Then smiled wickedly. "Well _almost_ the first time." Daenerys laughed.

"Ah Grey Worm. You never did finish telling me about that you know." She said distractedly.

Missandei, needing no convincing leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Well. When we -"

"I just don't think Lord Snow would have broken sacred vows." Daenerys exclaimed, before Missandei could continue. "Perhaps he knew a woman as a boy. That's not uncommon, some whore in a brothel somewhere. But I certainly don't think he'd have been old enough to know _love_."

Missandei sighed deeply and sat back in her seat. Daenerys eyed her friend guiltily for interrupting. To make amends, she reached over and filled Missandei's cup again. They really were going through this jug far too fast.

"I could be wrong." Missandei shrugged languidly. "It's just what I think, it's something in his way. Besides, Jon Snow's a King now, not commander of this Night's Watch. Does that not mean he broke vows, your Grace?"

This silenced Daenerys. She had considered this before. How exactly _did_ a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch come to be King in the North? She had assumed it was the need for a Stark to retake the North that had led him to forsake his duty at the Wall. But suddenly she recalled their conversation many days ago, when Jon had told her the story of her Uncle Aemon, and his lessons on the importance of vows. Had he not said the Maester had taught him that their vows to the Night's Watch meant more than even blood? And did he also not say that his sister was a capable ruler? Why had she not asked him about this that night when she'd had the chance? Now he was away beyond the Wall on a fool's errand. Gods knew when they'd have another chance to speak.

"He's quite handsome, Lord Snow." Missandei offered innocently. Daenerys narrowed her eyes, trying to focus her senses. She couldn't tell if this was as casual a remark as it seemed to be.

"He is," Daenerys replied noncommittally, looking away. There was a long silence, and when Daenerys glanced back to her her friend, she found her still looking at her expectantly. Daenerys felt an unwilling smile take hold. "He _is_." Missandei giggled and Daenerys couldn't help joining her.

"Do you miss Daario, your Grace?" Daenerys knew what her friend was insinuating, yet paused all the same to consider the question. She recalled one of her last conversations with Tyrion before they left Meereen, and Daario along with it.

"No, I don't miss him." She was certain.

"Jon Snow. He's quite capable. And brave."

"Missandei, quit fishing for... whatever it is you're fishing for!" She admonished her friend, only half joking. Missandei shrugged again, although she seemed rather unapologetic.

"You are the one who wanted to keep talking about him." She pointed out.

Daenerys scowled. _Fair point._ She had invited the conversation. And now it was time to end it.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Tell me more about Grey Worm." Daenerys leaned forward and looked at her friend imploringly. "I really have been dying to know."

Missandei grinned widely and just like that, the subject was changed.

Much, much later Daenerys was alone in her bed, for once glad there was nothing of import the next day. Her head wouldn't be able to take it. Yet she found sleep elusive. As she lay awake, she couldn't help allowing her mind to wander back to the subject of Jon Snow. During his time in the North, he'd seen many things, some of which she knew she might never believe. Was Missandei right when she said one of those things may have been a lover? If so, who had this woman been that had seen a man such as Lord Snow, a man of the Night's Watch, a _Lord Commander_ of the Night's Watch break his sacred vows?


	8. Chapter 8

**Knowing**

They were all going to die here. Jon knew this now with a sudden certainty. He looked around at his brothers, shared quick looks with Tormund first and then Jorah. None of these men would give up, not until they were struck down. But it wouldn't be enough. Not only would they all die, but after that, probably before the hour's end, they would all be risen. Grotesque soldiers in the Night King's army, mere shadows of the people they were. If it had been death, Jon could have made peace with that. Instead, he was overcome with despair. He had failed them.

He raised his sword of Valaryian steel, determined that he would kill as many of the dead as he could before he became one of them himself. At least he could reduce their numbers today rather than increase them. Then unbelievably, the frigid air turned hot all around, burning him as he ducked down. The dark skies now glowed orange. It took him a moment to understand what was happening as he gazed around in disbelief at the changed landscape.

That was the moment, Jon would recall later. When she and her dragons flew across the sky. Beautiful and terrible, filling the icy world with fire and destroying their enemies. That was he moment he knew he loved her.

Her dragon landed. Jon looked up and saw her staring back down at him, beckoning to him, _saving_ him. Saving all of them. He turned away to keep the way safe for the others to climb upon her dragon.

The piercing scream then tore through the air and Jon stared, uncomprehending as one of the other dragons fell from the sky, the sound thunderous as it made impact upon the ice. A small icy spear stuck out of it. _How had a spear of that size killed such a large creature?_

For a moment, all fell still as the fire went out of the dragon's eyes and it slid quietly into the lake with a sad kind of grace. He looked over to his companions who were also staring at the site where the dragon had sunk out of sight. His eyes moved across each of their faces registering horror and sadness, even in those who had never seen the beast until this day. His eyes reached Jorah but stopped short before moving onto Daenerys. He couldn't bear to look upon her face, instead looked away, wildly searching for the source of the spear. He already knew what he would find. His eyes quickly settled on the cold expressionless face of the Night King. The calm upon his terrible face filled Jon with certainty the dead man had been waiting for this very moment, for the dragons to come to their aid. Perhaps he had been waiting for this the entire time his dead army had surrounded Jon and his companions in the last days.

Jon was overcome with blinding rage. Without hesitation, he started in the Night King's direction, determined to avenge the Queen's dragon, avenge all of his friends and brothers he had lost in this war. He knew now that he would kill this foul creature, this abomination here and now, or he would die trying. This was his purpose for being brought back from the dead. He _knew_ this.

Then, the King raised a second spear, and it all fell spectacularly to hell. Fate proved once again, as it always did, that Jon Snow knew nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Waiting**

Terrified men scattered out of the way as Drogon landed inside the gate at Eastwatch. Daenerys could see the awed faces of the those who had never laid eyes on dragons. Most days she took great pleasure in such looks. Not today.

Those who had flown with her off that icy lake beyond the Wall climbed down off of Drogon and Daenerys had scarcely gotten herself onto solid ground before her child took back to the sky where Rhaegal was circling. Upon reaching his brother, ( _now his only brother,_ she thought), Drogon released a piercing cry, the likes of which she had never heard. _Grief,_ Daenerys knew. She felt no grief. Not yet anyway. She was numb.

 _Those things._

Jon Snow had been right all along. She _had_ come to believe him in the time they had spent together in Dragonstone. Or she thought she had. Now she realized she hadn't, _couldn't_ have possibly grasped the enormity of what Jon had tried to make her understand. It was so much worse, more terrifying than she could have imagined. How many made up this army of death? Tens of thousands? It was beyond count.

And Viserion.

 _Viserion._

 _Gone._ Just like that. How had they been able to kill her beautiful child? In seconds his life was snuffed out. How could they ever hope to fight an enemy who could kill her magnificent dragon like he was nothing but a mere fly? Especially when the man who knew the most of what they would need to do to survive was now gone himself.

 _Jon Snow._

The King in the North. The man she had come to respect, to _like_. Less than two hours ago she'd been looking down upon his face. That handsome, kind face that she had been gushing over with Missandei what seemed like a lifetime ago. Her greatest ally in Westerns and their best hope in this war he had repeatedly tried to warn her about. _Gone._

She could hardly allow herself to think because thinking made her _feel_. She'd seen violence, seen war. This felt different, _was_ different. The enormity of the loss was too great to comprehend. She stared around the keep in a daze, hardly seeing her companions. She dimly registered that Jorah was trying to catch her eye, but she ignored him.

With the dragon safely off the ground and back in the sky, the scattered men returned, rushing around them. Men from the Night's Watch, wildlings. And the young man Daenerys distantly recalled seeing with Davos on their return from King's Landing. They all spoke, looking for details, inquiring of their wellbeing, but the voices seemed to be coming from miles away, like she was underwater.

 _As Jon is._

"What happened?" Repeatedly asked.

"We got our dead man." The big man with the scars said. "Paid for it though." He didn't elaborate on what the price had been, muttering "Fucking cunts."

More questions, more half answers, more non answers.

"Where is Jon Snow?" Over and over again. No answer to that.

Then, louder and with greater anxiety, "Where is the King? Your _Grace!_ " Daenerys started at the use of the title and her eyes snapped to the source of the words. They were of course being directed at her. She became aware of Ser Davos standing in front of her pensively. His arms were rigid at his sides, as though he was physically trying to stop himself from taking her by the shoulders and shaking her.

" _Where_ is Jon?" He repeated desperately. She couldn't look at his kind face, already half suspecting the truth and dreading the answer.

"I... He..." She dropped her gaze to the ground and stuttered to a stop. As the silence continued, she looked to the men who had been Jon's companions, but none volunteered anything. They shuffled their feet, seemed to be waiting for her to speak for them. By shear will, Daenerys forced strength within herself, making herself act like the monarch she was. She raised her chin defiantly and took a deep breath.

"Lord Snow is dead." She said with authority, finality. Davos sucked in his breath at that. He clenched his fingers open and closed, the only movement visible with his arms still stiff at his side. After a long pause, he released his breath, slow and shaky.

"I don't mean to question your words, your Grace, but are you certain? Did you _see_ him die? Because Jon, he... before, when... he..." Davos trailed off. Daenerys looked at him expectantly, but he wouldn't say more. She sighed. She didn't want to be speaking of this right now, she'd hardly had time to begin processing everything herself.

"He fought the dead to clear a path so we could escape. Before he could reach us he fell through the ice. We had to leave him, I had to get Drogon out of there, because... well." She couldn't bring herself to explain that part yet. She looked Davos straight in the eye. "The last thing I saw before leaving was the hole in the ice where Jon Snow had stood. He didn't come back up, and even if he did, he would have found those _things_ surrounding him. Tell me Ser Davos, is that certain enough for you?"

Davos looked to the other men who had seen Jon Snow fall, looking for confirmation. Daenerys sighed again, understanding his unwillingness to believe her, but exasperated all the same. Most of them were voicing quiet words of assent. Jorah was looking back at her and nodded softly when she met his eyes. The wildling man whose name she did not know was also watching her. He regarded her, a thoughtful expression on his face, but said nothing. She returned to Davos who had hung his head. It would have broken her heart if she'd had room for more grief on this day.

"Aye," He sighed sadly. "That's certain enough."

The whitewalker they had captured began thrashing about, making them all jump. A gurgling inhuman growl escaping lips as it writhed upon the ground. It would kill them all if it could. Daenerys stared at it, paralyzed by loathing. She hated it more than she could recall ever hating anything, above all of the many enemies she had encountered in her life, of which there were too many to name.

"Get that abomination out of my sight." She commanded. And although none of the men, save Jorah, had pledged themselves to her and many had not seen her face before this day, they moved to obey her without question. They were bound to her now after what they had been through, just as she was bound to them. The Night's Watch men followed their lead and suddenly things sprang into action all around them.

The scarred man and the Wildling were the first to move away, dragging the whitewalker, kicking with violence and continuing its growling, along with them, presumably to lock it up somewhere. Others from the group left to tend to injuries or help their comrades. Members of the Watch began milling around, presumably to continue with work they had to do. After a moment it was only herself, Jorah and Davos standing alone.

"Your Grace." Davos started. But Jorah stepped in between them and Davos stopped whatever he had been about to say.

"With your permission, I'll give Ser Davos a full report, your Grace." _So you can take a moment to yourself._ Daenerys heard the suggestion, unspoken out of respect, but implied all the same. She shot him a grateful look. He'd given her some time, a short reprieve. She nodded. Davos offered to have someone show her to quarters, but she refused, saying she would find them herself.

But Daenerys did not find quarters, did not even look for them. Instead, she wandered the halls at random, not knowing where to go, not caring. She had so hastily left Dragonstone with her children, she was here virtually alone.

She rounded a corner and almost collided with the wildling man who had come back with them. He had firey red hair and a big beard. He was bigger than any man she'd seen in a long time.

"Excuse me, Ser..."

"Tormund. I'm no Ser." He replied, looking at her with his wide assessing eyes.

"Tormund." She repeated. Apologies. I wasn't paying attention. I confess, I hardly know where I'm going."

"You saved us. Back there." Tormund stated, ignoring her apology.

"Not all of you." She whispered. Not Lord Snow. _King Snow,_ she thought dully.

"Jon Snow is alive," Tormond replied, seeming to read her mind. She felt dread creep in at his words, remembering something Lord Snow had told her at Dragonstone.

"He said... _Jon_ said, that... _thing,_ can raise the dead. If he can do that... He will raise Jon Snow." Her stomach turned at the thought and she felt herself tremble. The numbness she had been feeling was starting to thaw and she felt herself coming horribly undone.

"No Dragon Queen. I mean to say he's _alive_. He'll return." Tormund answered.

Daenerys shook her head in disbelief not knowing how to answer. She felt touched by, but also pity for this simple man's faith.

"You knew Jon well." She ventured sympathetically.

"Yes, but that's not why I know he's alive." He stared at her intently and Daenerys could see the sharp intelligence in the man and began to reconsider her assessment of him. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. "I've seen Jon Snow face worse and yet live. You will too."

He was certain. Daenerys recalled Davos' words about Jon taking a knife in the heart. A mysterious claim, one that had never been explained to her. She looked at Tormund speculatively. "Perhaps you are right, Ser." She said slowly, using the title, though like he had said, he was no knight. She moved away to continue her journey through the halls of Eastwatch.

"Dragon Queen." Tormond called out to her before she could turn the corner. She looked back to him inquiringly.

"I'm sorry for your dragon." He said in his gruff voice. And somehow, the words of this wild man, so kind, and _not_ simple, undid her.

Daenerys exhaled sharply in surprise and her knees suddenly felt weak. The grief she had been staving off hit her like a gale force wind. She saw Tormund start to reach for her, to steady her, but she forced herself to right herself and stand tall, so he held back. She raised her chin and looked him in the eye.

"Thank you." Tormund nodded approvingly at her showing of strength.

When she had put some distance between them however, Daenerys leaned forward, pressing her forehead onto the cool stone of the wall. Her breaths came out in gasps as she trembled and her grief washed over her.

She needed to see her children, the ones who were left. They still needed her. Taking a deep breath, she resumed her walking, this time to find the top of the tower to find Drogon and Rheagal.

That was where Jorah found her, standing on the wall facing northward while her dragons flew high above, circling over her.

"Khaleesi," He greeted her gently. "We should make preparations to head south."

"No. Not yet." Daenerys answered. Jorah bowed his head.

"Please, Khaleesi, we will need to make plans for King's Landing, and the sooner we go South, the sooner we can act."

"I realize that." Daenerys said, refusing to break her gaze from the land beyond the Wall. "But first, we will wait here. For Jon Snow to return."


	10. Chapter 10

**Convalescence**

It was difficult, recovering on a boat.

The constant rocking made Jon seasick, an affliction he had never suffered from before and never wished to again. Something about being stuck in bed and feeling the unrelenting waves swinging their ship back and forth... it was awful.

And he was so tired. The chill from that icy lake had scarcely left him since he'd returned. After bouts of retching, he would shiver uncontrollably, even after wrapping himself in furs. It _was_ improving with each day, and the seasickness was lessening, but he hadn't yet left his room. His world had shrunk to the four walls of his quarters and whoever happened to be in it with him.

That person was most often Davos. The man tended to him and was his chief source of company. By unspoken agreement, they didn't speak of what had happened, or discuss what was to come. This time on the boat was a brief respite from the violence and war that overshadowed their lives. Davos told him of his childhood growing up in Flea Bottom. He talked of his wife, and Mathos, the son he lost in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He even talked of Shireen, the princess who taught him to read and who he had loved. In turn, Jon told him of his childhood in Winterfell and his siblings. The memories carried less bitterness knowing he had three siblings waiting for him at Winterfell when he returned and he was glad to speak of them.

Like Davos, Daenerys also came in to check on him every day. Unlike Davos, she never stayed long, and their conversation was stilted. She would unfailingly inquire as to how he was feeling, express approval that he was growing stronger with each day, then leave quickly after.

Jon wanted to ask how _she_ was. He wanted to know how she fared after losing Viserion, her thoughts on the Night King and what she had seen North of the Wall, how her other dragons were doing. He wanted to know more about who she was, how she had grown up and the things she had seen that led her to these moments. But before he could even ask the simplest of questions, she'd leave him. The intimacy they had shared days earlier when he swore his oath to her had dissipated. Jon wondered if he had imagined it.

"Your Grace, have I done something to offend you?" He asked at last one night. She had come to see him before retiring to her chamber, she held an oil lantern in her hand and stayed near the doorway and had started to turn to go back out. He was recovering faster with each day. He knew these moments together, just the two of them, would fast come to a close once they arrived back on Dragonstone. She'd go back to being the Queen with all her guards, servants, advisors, and he would only be one of the many orbiting her. Jon found he could bear this awkwardness no longer.

"Offend me? Of course not," Daenerys replied, obviously surprised by the question. She turned back to him. "Why would you think that?"

"You've visited me every day, your Grace, and I thank you for your kindness. But you've been..." _Distant. Closed off_. He found he could not say the words. For she didn't owe him anything after all. It wasn't her fault that his feelings towards her had changed. Even still, he had hoped from the other day that there was at least some understanding between them, friendship even. Perhaps he had overestimated her esteem for him.

Daenerys looked down, biting her lip, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He suddenly felt very foolish and hurried to undo his words. "I'm sorry, your Grace. I know you have a lot on your mind. And the Warden of the North is the least of your concerns. It's been difficult for all of us, but no more so than for you."

"It has." She replied softly. When she looked back up at him, her gaze was soft, expressive. "But you are wrong to think you have been the least of my concerns, Jon Snow."

"Well then." Jon replied, not quite knowing what to say to that, so said no more.

The silence stretched between them. Jon could hear the lapping of the waves hitting up against the side of the ship, and the creaks of the boards above them as people walked over top. Underneath these sounds, He imagined he could hear the soft sound of her breathing, even and calming. She glanced at him quickly, then her eyes cast downward. But she made no motion to leave.

"Will you sit with me a moment?" Jon felt embarrassed to ask, but found that he could not resist asking.

She looked uncertain and Jon thought she would certainly refuse. Her eyes darted around the room furtively, as if she were looking to see if anyone was watching them, though of course they were alone. Then she nodded slightly. She placed the lantern upon the night table, next to the one already there, before sitting tentatively down on the bed beside him. It was the closest she'd come to him since he had pledged himself to her.

She wore the same cloak that she had rescued them in, likely the only one she had in her possession on this journey, given her hasty arrival to rescue them. Her silvery yellow hair hung down loosely at her sides, so long that he could reach his hand out and run his fingers through it, an impulse which he ignored. He'd noticed in the last few days her hair was not braided the in the elaborate styles she seemed to favour, no doubt due to the fact that none of her servants were with her. But he liked it. Made her seem more approachable, less _Dragon Queen,_ more Daenerys.

"Have you become bored on this journey, now that you are feeling better?" She asked him, jolting Jon out of his thoughts. He felt a little self conscious suddenly at his long recovery.

"No your Grace. I don't think I've slept this much in my whole life. Truth be told, I think I needed it," Jon replied ruefully. "And when I'm awake, Ser Davos has been here for company. Jorah's come in the odd time too."

"Ser Davos is good company, I think." Daenerys smiled.

"Better than _I_ am. Not that that's any great compliment." Jon chuffed a laugh self deprecatingly. Daenerys chuckled a bit in return, but her face was earnest.

"I disagree."

Jon felt a quickening in his heart. He strove to hide that fact however and smiled wryly. "I was never the most fun to be around. My brother Robb was always quick to smile, quick to laugh, more so than his sulking brother."

"But you loved him."

"Aye. I did. He was easy to love." Jon said wistfully. "I on the other hand, I've only become worse I fear for company. And made worse by being stuck in this room I imagine."

"You're getting stronger every day." Daenerys reminded him. "It was a miracle you survived." Jon looked away.

"I've been through worse."

"Yes you have." She agreed quietly. He turned back towards her, raised an eyebrow in question. Daenerys ducked her head down. It may have been only the lamplight warming her skin, but her face seemed to take on a flush.

 _She saw the scars._ Jon realized suddenly. When they had brought him back, he imagined. When he'd awaken, he'd been out of his wet clothing and she'd been immediately at his side. _Now she will ask._

But she didn't ask. She just looked at him, with an expression of knowing in her violet eyes.

She reached over her hand to his face and lightly brushed the hair out of his eyes. Jon's eyes widened and his breath quickened at her light touch. Her fingers were small and delicate and her skin warm, almost hot. Difficult to imagine that this was the same woman who rode into battle on dragons.

"I'm very glad you came back to me safely." She said softly. Jon closed his eyes to hide away from her, afraid of what he might reveal. It was out of his control now, these feelings he had for her.

He felt the weight shift on the bed and when he opened his eyes, she was standing over him, lantern back in hand.

"Sleep well Lord Snow."

"You as well, my Queen."

He was finally out of his room. They were on the deck, he and Davos. They were near the bow of the ship, virtually alone. Jon greeted the salty air with a smile, feeling invigorated. He felt _strong_ , glad to be alive in a way he'd not felt, not since before the Red Witch brought him back from death. It was a beautiful day, difficult not to be in a good mood. The sun shone in a cloudless sky, save for some white fluffy clouds starboard, marking the coastline. They would be docking in Dragonstone in two days. The respite was coming to an end, and Jon's world opened up again as he began to again think to the future.

"I swore fealty to Daenerys." Jon said suddenly to Davos. Davos jerked his eyes over to Jon in surprise.

"You _what_?"

Jon furrowed his brow. "Did she not tell you?"

"No, she did not." Davos replied. He pursed his lips, deep in thought. Jon stood by him patiently, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

"Well I'm surprised, but supposed I'm not shocked. She's tough. A formidable ruler, and true to her word. She came to you in your need without hesitation." Davos said at last. "I _have_ spoken to her a few times in the last days. She didn't speak of you bending the knee, but she certainly has come to hold you in very high regard. Did you know that?" Jon shrugged.

"She saved us. Without her, we'd all be dead, soldiers in our enemy's army. And she paid dearly for it. I've come to hold her in high regard also." Davos nodded, not pleased with the news obviously, but resigned.

"Well it's done now. How do you think the Lords of the North and your Lady sister will take this news?" Davos asked, cutting to the heart of it.

"They'll accept it. Not right away, they'll be angry. But they'll come to see themselves the kind of person she is."

Davos nodded slowly. "The road will be difficult, getting them to see her as you do."

"Not so difficult. She'll show them. I had no inkling of yielding to her when I met her, and look how I've changed." Jon replied earnestly. "I _believe_ in her. They will do the same."

Davos looked at him sharply, as though seeing him anew. "You _love_ her."

Jon frowned, unsure if he was ready to reveal this much of his heart.

"I imagine all men who come to know her love her." He said dismissively. "I'm certain Ser Jorah does. Tyrion too probably. I'm probably the last in a long list."

"It's not surprising I suppose, she really is a remarkable person. But then again, so are you." Davos lips quirked. "She could do a lot worse."

Jon shrugged, a bit morosely. "I don't think that the Queen is so inclined."

"Hmm, I wouldn't be so certain about that." Davos said thoughtfully. "She refused to leave Eastwatch because she wouldn't give up on your return. Have you tried asking _her_ how she feels about the King in the North?"

Jon scowled. Of course he hadn't asked her. And he wouldn't. He felt ridiculous, discussing such frivolities with all that was to come.

"I doesn't matter anyway. Like I said before, there's no time for that."

"You're young, your Grace. There's no time like the present. No shame in claiming some small happiness in this world while it's available. Gods know there won't be much of it to go around in the war to come."

"I guess it won't be "your Grace" any longer. I'm not a King anymore." Jon replied, ignoring the rest and moving away from the bow to walk about the deck.

Davos fell into an easy step beside him and when he spoke, his voice was gruff.

"You are to me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Dragon pit**

Upon her return to her homeland, Tyrion had counselled Daenerys to reclaim the Iron Throne peacefully. It hadn't been difficult to convince her, she had known it was the right way, to win not only the loyalty but the hearts of the people. That was how you break the wheel. She had to admit to herself though that lately that conviction had been wavering. With the amount of loss, heartbreak and work that went into getting the white walker to King's Landing, Daenerys had wondered, might she have preferred to have burned the entirety of King's Landing after all? Be done with Cersei, her spite and manipulation all at once, and just _get on with it_. But something now struck her that she hadn't fully realized before.

 _All of these people knew each other._

They all had histories together, friends in common, even _family_ in common more often than not. Cersei had departed the dragon pit, effectively shutting down any hope of armistace. And although her loyal subjects in attendance had followed her, many seemed reluctant to make haste. Many approached the other side, their so call enemies. Both sides were engaging each other, exchanging pleasantries or hurried discussions, likely of what they had witnessed here. The Queen's own brother delayed to speak to the large lady dressed as a knight, the one who was sworn to protect Jon's sisters. Their conversation seemed strained, yet intimate, suggesting deep comradery.

 _We're all on the same side_ , Jon had said over and over again in the last months. Now, seeing all of these people here today, their long histories together, Daenerys realized this was true, for even deeper reasons than Jon had been suggesting. These people here today had lived through years of strife after the usurpers death. Many of them had switched sides multiple times, put their faith and hopes into different rulers, most of whom were now dead. The lines of allegiance weren't drawn as clearly in the sand as she may have thought. These people largely respected each other despite their differing sides, in some cases maybe even loved one another. And this esteem for one another must be significantly stronger than faith in any monarch.

And It wasn't just Cersei who had seen the dead man. People would talk of what they saw here today, people would think about what they valued, _who_ they valued. And many may be convinced to turn to a force for good, for unity, even if their Queen would not.

For the first time, Daenerys began to think of peaceful takeover as an effective _strategy_ to win the Iron Throne, not just a kindness.

Not to mention they would need every living soul they could get in the battles between the living and dead. So despite her disregard for Cersei, Daenerys hoped Tyrion would be able to convince his sister, as he seemed to think he would be able to do. She had her doubts on this however.

As they awaited Tyrion's return, Daenerys berated Jon for his unfailing honesty. She'd never known someone with whom honesty could be a fault as well as a strength. Her frustration with him was great. Yet it was his loyalty to _her_ that he laid out bare, out in the open for all to see. They all respected Jon, even though he had told her he hardly knew most of these people here today. Even Cersei seemed to know without question that Jon Snow's word could be trusted. Whether it be Wildlings or the Lords of Westeros, Jon had real magnetism, even if he didn't see that in himself. And the King in the North had publicly announced his trust, his loyalty in _her_. It was probably one of the most potent endorsement Daenerys could have, the allegiance of a major player in the game. So even though his honesty exasperated her, it gave her a thrill thinking about his words.

And not just a thrill for how this would affect her standing with the people of Westeros. She had to admit to herself that the idea that her and Jon Snow were now joined together in alliance was very pleasant indeed. They would fight the Night King, defeat his terrible army. _Together_. Her growing affection for this man was less and less easy for her to deny. At first she had dismissed it as simple attraction to a handsome man her own age. But she had glimpsed beneath his cold brooding exterior and seen the man beneath. And he had only one priority in his life, to ensure the survival of his people, so much in fact, he had died for them. He feelings regarding this went beyond respect. Daenerys saw herself in this, felt a connection to him she'd not felt with any man before. Yet she remained unsure if this was a good decision, to become this close to Jon Snow.

Her pride, affection and uncertainty was forefront on her mind as they stood next to each other nervously awaiting Tyrion's return, if he would indeed be allowed to return. How _hot_ Jon must be in those Northern robes. King's landing was cold, but still warm enough for one layer of wool to suffice, nothing compared to the Wall. She had to admit though, Jon did look the impressive in full regalia, northern King he was. It was important to dress the part, and he had to have some inkling of the effect it had. He paced around. Every so often their eyes would meet in mutual anxiety. She knew without him saying that he was itching to get back to Dragonstone, to start planning the great battle, and probably head northward soon. They spoke little, yet there was a comfort and familiarity, standing here with him. Words hardly seemed necessary.

She had tried to keep her distance from him on the journey back to Dragonstone, fearing this closeness that she felt growing between them. But when he sensed her reticence and had questioned her on it, she had found she could not maintain the facade. Something about being near him, sharing his counsel felt very right, and she'd always been one to obey her instincts.

It would be nice to have her Hand's advice on such things, but it was not advice she was ready to ask for. On this she would keep her own counsel, and wait and see. There was a long road ahead.

As her and Jon were speaking, they were interrupted, both turning to face the same sound. Tyrion was walking through the passage to the Dragon pit. So his life had been spared at least. Daenerys watched his approach with impatience. Her and Jon walked together to meet him, she imagined she could feel the heat of his presence next to her. As Tyrion grew closer, she could discern the look on his face, confident and sure. Then Cersei arrived to address them. Soon they would be departing for Dragonstone, then the North.

They had won. For now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Sleepless**

They'd had an early start today at Dragonstone. Jon had spent the last days overseeing the mined dragon glass as it was packed into carts which would travel with the Dothraki and Unsullied by foot. They also had large amounts of food stores to transport north with them as well. Feeding such a large horde would be impossible for the Northern houses, they had to bring with them what they would consume, though it was difficult to know how long they would all be north.

With all the packing, all of the preparation, it had been late afternoon when they set sail for White Harbour. It was somewhat of a relief to reboard the ship, which he'd become rather used to in the last months. While at sea, there was time to catch your breath. They'd all dined together that night long after the sun had sunk into the sea. He, Davos, Tyrion, Varys, Jorah, Missendei and of course, Daenerys, together in the lord's mess. An intimate affair, with for once little discussion of plans and strategies. There would be time enough for that in the days to come.

It was late therefore when Jon returned to his room. He laid on the bed without stripping, his eyes closed. He was tired, but he knew sleep would not come easily, his mind was active.

He was relieved to be going home. Still a fortnight away, weather permitting, but still. Home to Winterfell. Though for how long he didn't know. They had sent a raven north that morning, telling Sansa of their plans and that they should be prepared to admit the Queen, and that her armies would camp nearby. He hadn't yet told Sansa that he had bent the knee. It didn't feel like a conversation to be had over raven, even without the risk of the letter being intercepted. But she was perceptive, she would read between the lines and know that some agreement with the Queen had been made.

With this, Jon's thoughts drifted to the Queen. He recalled her at supper earlier that evening in her deep blue gown and silver hair running rivulets down her shoulders. His impossibly lovely queen.

He thought of Robb. Robb who couldn't set aside love for duty. And had paid for it with his life. And the life of the one he loved. He loved Robb but Robb had made a grave mistake. Jon couldn't afford to make the same mistakes with all there was at stake. His duty to his people had to come ahead of himself.

Beric's words came back to him. You and I won't find much joy while we're here, but we can keep others alive. We can defend those who can't defend themselves.

He had tried so hard to live by this. It was one of the reasons he had joined the Night's Watch, to put his duty to the people ahead of everything else. Even Ygritte had not been able to persuade him to put his duty aside. He'd often thought about her words as she died, when she said they should have stayed in that cave. She had been right, they should have stayed there, or gone together, far away from Westeros and took care of each other, everyone else be damned. But he hadn't done that. He'd betrayed her in favour of his vows to the Night's Watch because that was where he felt his duty was.

Jon's eyes snapped open. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, needed out of this room, he'd spent enough time enclosed in a small room alone on his last journey by ship. He wrenched open the door and began walking the halls.

He'd defended the Wall from the Wildlings when they had tried to breach the Wall because of his duty to the Night's Watch. Then later, he'd allowed the Wildlings past the Wall and into Castle Black, because he'd known in his heart that it had been right, that they would need every man they could get. For his whole life, Jon had done his best to put everyone's needs before his own, and what had he gotten for his efforts? Betrayed and killed by his brothers.

Then he'd been brought back from the dead. For what? More of the same, it would seem.

He was alive. He had a second chance, how many people had that? Did he truly only want more of the same?

He traveled through the ships corridors. It was late, most of the doors he passed had no light even spilling through the cracks in the bottom. Anyone awake was at their post above or below deck, not in the crew quarters. He saw no one.

All these people on this ship would fight to defend the North, defend all mankind. Until they had defeated the greatest enemy any man would ever face. Or until death if it came to that. Perhaps they would all be dead before the winter was out. What had Davos said on the journey from Eastwatch? That life was short, and happiness was fleeting. Take it when it's offered.

Was it really so terrible an idea?

All at once Jon was tired, so fucking tired. Tired of saying what was right, doing what was right, playing the game. He had always set aside anything he might want for himself because of his duty.

How had he gotten here? Jon found himself suddenly standing in front of a door. The door. He knew now this door had been his destination since he had left his room. And it was far too late to prevent what he was about to do.

He knocked three times.


	13. Chapter 13

Here it is, the smut chapter...

 **Northward**

When she opened the door, Daenerys was surprised to see Jon Snow standing there. The hour was late, long after she had thought everyone else asleep, or at least retired to their rooms. She paused a moment, but he made no comment to explain his presence. After the slightest hesitation, she stepped back slightly, allowing him entrance without question, but knowing not what to say.

He walked through and the door shut behind him, the sound seeming louder in the quiet of the room. Jon's face was solemn, as it so often was, betraying little. But as he stood facing her now, there was a quiet decisiveness about him that seemed different somehow than his usual expression. It made her stomach drop. Perhaps she wasn't so surprised to see him here after all, not in her heart.

They stood a few paces apart and looked into one another's eyes, but moved no closer and spoke no words. Words hardly seemed necessary, really. She knew now why he was here, and he knew she knew.

Is this right what we are about do do? Daenerys didn't know. Perhaps she no longer cared.

After a long moment, Jon slowly closed the distance between them. He reached out and gently took her by the hips and pushed her towards the wall. Still slow though, giving her every moment to speak, to object. She allowed herself to be pushed, felt the solid, cool wood on her back contrasted to the heat that seemed to radiate off of him. His hands continued to hold her hips in place. She looked up at him, at this face that had become so familiar to her in their time together. His hair bound back, as it always was. His dark eyes, face marred slightly by the scar running down the side, giving his handsome, youthful face an edge to it, making him ever slightly so menacing. When had he come to mean so much to her?

While she studied Jon, he did the same, his eyes moved all over her face, drinking in her features, moving back and forth, searching her eyes, and falling finally, inevitably to her lips. Her heartbeat quickened and his eyes darted back to hers. He nodded almost imperceptibly, as though her eyes had confirmed something for him. Then slowly, he bent down and kissed her.

It was soft, but sure. He was gentle in the same way he had pushed her against the wall. But the softness began to fade until it wasn't tentative in the slightest. Daenerys sighed with an almost relief, a release of something she hadn't been fully conscious of holding in. Her arms went into his hair and his to her shoulders as he pulled her closer. She opened her mouth and he groaned in response. Tongues duelled. It was mindless.

He pulled away suddenly. Already she missed him. Daenerys opened her eyes in confusion, her breaths heavy. She focused only to find him falling to his knees before her. She laid her hand gently on his head and he gazed up at her, still solemn, but adoring. She returned the look questioningly. Slowly, deliberately and without breaking eye contact, Jon began to push the skirt of her dress upwards. Up, up, up over her knees and then over her hips. Then after a smouldering look that gave her no doubt of his intention, he broke his gaze and leaned in.

Though she had watched all of this unfold unbelievingly, as though it was happening to someone else, now, as his mouth met her most intimate place, Daenerys gasped. She trembled. She felt his tongue and her knees began to buckle. She reached out for his head, fingers curling into his hair to steady herself. Ready for her, Jon supported her at her hip, pushing her once again back into the wall that was behind her. He then reached with his other hand to lift her left leg up, giving him more access to her. She could hear his grunt of satisfaction.

Daenerys threw her head back. Drogo had never done this, he wouldn't have dreamed of it. Daario of course had, many times. Proudly, eager to please her. But not with this... intent, this single mindedness. Drogo she had loved. Daario she had not. And Jon Snow...

Missandei was right, Daenerys thought distantly. Jon Snow had known women, or at least a woman. The thought gave her a brief twinge of jealousy, but as she felt his lips upon her, his tongue drinking her in and touching all the right spots, it drove all thinking away and she gave into the sensation.

She fell apart and her knees fully gave out, Jon supported her weight, she bent over him artlessly, so overcome as he rode her out.

Slowly, when she became aware of herself again, Daenerys looked to Jon. He was looking at her with an intensity that burned, pupils blown wide. Finally, he allowed her skirts to fall and smoothed them down her front and stood before her.

Gods, had they really not even removed their clothes yet?

"I don't know how they do things in the north Jon Snow, but where I come from, we remove our clothing before doing such things."

His lips twitched upward.

"It's cold in the North, my Queen." He said.

"it's not cold in here now." She said

"No it's not." He agreed, leaning in to kiss her again.

She felt the fire inside her awaken again.

This time, she would know him.


End file.
